Monday, December 7, 2015

Even More Sex, and, What Can Happen When You're High on Endorphins

About two weeks ago I received a "like" from a guy I didn't recognize on a dating site I'd written off as useless. The guy was cute and his profile was warm and authentic, so I messaged him, hoping he might reply. He did, with a glowing response about how much he liked my profile and how handsome I was.

Well, damn!

That message began a daily habit wherein we exchanged boatloads of flattering comments about each other. After about the fourth day, however, I started to wonder if he might be a catfish because he kept ignoring my requests to meet in person. Then he talked about the weather in San Antonio on one day and Salt Lake City on another. Why not say he couldn't meet because he was traveling? I wondered. Finally, on the tenth day, at the very end of yet another highly flattering email he said, "I'm free for the next several days."

Woot!

It took a few more messages but eventually I got him to commit to a day, time and location for dinner. Essentially I said, "Pick what works for you and I'll be there."

On the appointed day, in anticipation of finally meeting, I did some last-minute homework and reviewed his profile, pictures and the messages we exchanged. I wanted to be certain the details were fresh in my mind so I could keep the conversation flowing in case there was a lull. When that was completed, I still had time to kill so I did a web search of his name and pictures to see if anything came up. It turns out that he's quite a successful architect. Nice.

More searching led me to a series of links and ultimately a Youtube video of him speaking at a conference in Denver. Much to my delight, in the video he was every bit as handsome as his dating profile pictures suggested. His voice, mannerisms and demeanor were all very pleasing too.

Watching the video really put me over the top. Because I could clearly see and hear him in it, I was *certain* I would be attracted to him when we met. The more I thought about him, the more excited I got. Could something special actually happen between us??

I spent about a half-hour contemplating the possibilities... then I realized I was setting myself up for a huge disappointment if he didn't like me or if we didn't click. In an attempt to be more grounded, I reminded myself that his behavior was a little fishy and that none of his pictures, nor the Youtube video, showed his full body. What if he was wheel-chair bound or something?

About thirty minutes prior to our meeting he sent a text: "Let's promise not to have expectations of each other." I replied with, "I'm driving to the restaurant now...with no expectations." Such a lie!

As I waited in front of the restaurant, the much-anticipated moment finally arrived. There he was...a very handsome man walking toward me. He was a little shorter than I expected - but that's good because I have an affinity for short men.

Not pear-shaped. Tom Daley = perfection

After we said hello and checked in with the hostess, we were led to a small table in the back. In an attempt to be a gentleman, I let him go first. That's when I got a good look at his backside. Um. Hmm. In his profile he describes his body as 'fit and athletic'. That's not what I see... Once we were seated, however, and I looked into his beautiful brown eyes, all thoughts of his pear-shaped body quickly evaporated from my mind.

To be honest, I don't remember much of our conversation. That might be because the communication I focused on was happening between our eyes and through our facial expressions. My eyes feasted on how completely adorable he was, while he kept blushing and looking down. It was a virtuous cycle of lust and shy charm that was almost dizzying.

Dinner lasted nearly two hours, in part because I never wanted it to end. Not only was he cute, smart, sweet and incredibly charming, but I also felt like we were genuinely connecting. Talking to him felt both amazing and completely natural.

Eventually, after the dessert had been devoured and the bill had been paid, it was time for us to go. As we stepped out onto the street, the cool air cleared my head a little. I didn't want to say goodbye but I also didn't know how to make a graceful exit. Instead, I asked if he was parked nearby. "No...I actually don't have a car - or even a driver's license. I prefer to walk or take public transit. I ran most of way here." It turned out that he lived a mile and a half away. Of course I asked if I could drive him home. He paused for a second, then said, "OK."

When we arrived at his place, a cute turn-of-the-century Victorian, all too soon it was time to say "cheerio!"

"Can I get a goodnight kiss?" I asked.

"Here, in the car?" He replied doubtfully. "How about on the doorstep?"

I parked and we walked up to his elegant porch. "It's cold out here," he said. "Do you mind if we go inside for a minute?"

The house was small but perfectly decorated. The style was minimalist-yet-warm, a difficult balance to achieve. He gave me a quick tour of the downstairs, including the backyard where he'd been working earlier in the day. "Don't look at how messy it is! I have a lot to do before Thanksgiving. I'm having more people than usual this year. I hope the yard will look nice."

"How many are you having?"

"Eighteen. I'm making Cornish Game Hens. The last time I cooked turkey there was too much leftover. I ate turkey-everything for the next week."

"Eighteen? Wow. In addition to being a very handsome man, you must be an amazing cook too." He sheepishly looked down, making it impossible for me to resist him any longer, "You're so adorable...I just have to kiss you."

Once we began kissing, I didn't want it to end. He didn't either, apparently. "Let's sit on the couch where we can be more comfortable," he suggested. Then, after just a few minutes more, "This couch is too small, let's go upstairs."

By "upstairs" I knew he meant his bedroom. Should I go up? This has been such a perfect first date...I don't want to turn it into a hook-up.

Once we were in the bedroom, we shed our shoes and he flopped down on the bed. In that position, he looked especially delicious. We kissed for a while, and it was fantastic.

"It's getting hot in here," he whispered. "I need to take this sweater off."

Before long, not only was his sweater off, but so was my shirt. Then his. Then his pants, then mine.

I have no idea how long we were naked together, but it was glorious - and fun...and passionate...and erotic...and exciting. When it was over, we hadn't done anything more than what Yousef and I had done three times before, but it was a completely different experience. This was good sex - and no orgasm was required.

On the drive home, I reveled in the after-glow. Everything about the night was perfect. Everything about him was perfect. (Well...not entirely. Given a choice, I'd prefer that his hips, ass and thighs were slimmer than his shoulders.) But was it a mistake to get naked on the first date? Did we turn something with loads of potential into a cheap hook-up?

Before we met, I was very confident we would click, yet I never imagined we'd have sex on the first date. I don't think that was his intention either. It just happened. One step lead to the next.

What will our future be? I wondered. Of course we'll see each other again. But was this a one-time thing where the magic can't be rekindled? Or is this the start of something big and meaningful?

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Yousef doesn't warrant a full post so I'm adding an addendum about him here...

I've been wanting to have the "Let's be friends" conversation with him for several weeks but I've also wanted the timing to be right.

Finally, five days after I met the Architect, Yousef and I made arrangements to have dinner then see a live, interactive theatrical performance. My goal for the night was to have the uncomfortable conversation at dinner and then, hopefully, let the performance end the night on a positive note.

At dinner, Yousef was his usual self as he complained about the food. "This is the worst Cesar Salad I have ever had! There are no croutons!" I had a house salad soaked with croutons so I playfully flipped a few of them onto his plate. "That's very rude, you know. It's nice of you to share them but you should respectfully put them on my plate."

"Apparently I cause you endless grief!" I teased - with a goal in mind.

Right on cue, he took the bait. Without having to say very much at all, in just a few minutes it was Yousef who was trying to comfort me, "You'll always be part of my inner circle of friends."

With the deed done (quite skillfully if you ask me; I'd been carefully arranging the deck chairs on the Yousef-Titanic for weeks), we finished dinner and walked to the theater.

The show was put on by a local troupe, so my expectations were low, but it was better than I expected. The interactions with the audience made it both interesting and entertaining. Near the end, one bit involved a toilet plunger making a journey through the audience. An actor carried the plunger around, slowing spinning it, as if it was flying in slow-motion. We all knew it was destined to land on someone - and that person was Yousef. He was a good target because he has a perfectly bald, smooth head. Both Yousef and the rest of the audience had a good laugh as the actor struggled to remove the plunger from Yousef's head after it "landed" there.

The next day, I sent Yousef an email thanking him for dinner and the performance. Here is a portion of what he said in reply:

"Yes, the show exceeded my expectations, except I woke up the next day
with a neck/shoulder strain due to the activity the performer conducted
on my head, shoulder, and neck. I did contact the company and let them
know about my strain and the unsafe implications of their act. They were
receptive and removed the plunger stunt from the performance. They
offered to refund me the price of my ticket, but I declined."

Maybe he really was injured and I shouldn't make fun of him...but I see this as typical Yousef - a walking rain-cloud of negativity. Although there are things I genuinely like about him, I've realized a good match for me is someone with a naturally positive attitude. It's therefore not at all surprising that I liked the Architect so much - he's a fire hose of positivity - and it's all real.

The Architect and I did meet a second time. More about that in the next post.

What is this blog about?

The earliest posts are my sexual biography. I tell the story of how I went from a 13yo gay kid to a happily married 44yo man with three kids. It was a strange, eventful journey.

Most posts from late 2010 - mid 2011 detail my struggle to keep my marriage together, in spite of my sexuality, and in spite of my wife Gabbie's on-going affair with a degenerate named Charlie.

More recent posts are about my reluctant transition from a suburban dad to a newly-out middle-aged gay man. It's been a difficult balancing act; I have a lot to learn.

Interspersed between the posts about my personal journey are my attempts to understand and explain bisexuality as it pertains to closeted men and their straight wives.

I have opinions but I like them to be challenged. I also enjoy helping others who are dissatisfied with their mixed orientation marriage. Please feel free to email me directly at random4780@hotmail.com with any feedback.